Page 23 of Gladiator Moon

So, I turn and meet the beastie in mid-air, where it flies on massive, leathery wings. It could have been a dragon, except for the fact that it looks nothing like one. I’ve seen my share of dragons, and you, sir, are no dragon.

Its long jaws snap shut where my head had been a heartbeat earlier. I twist hard to port, my wings beating furiously as one claw the size of a canoe paddle rakes through the empty air near my heart. Those talons look forged from black steel. I have no intention of discovering whether they are as sharp as they look.

I slash with my ice sword as we cross paths. The blade bites into one armored foreleg, leaving behind little more than a white scar across thick scales. The beastie doesn’t even seem to notice. Instead, it wheels with astonishing agility for something the size of a VW bus and comes back at me, both claws and both forearms extended. I tuck in my wings and drop beneath the attack, feeling the rush of displaced air buffet my face as those enormous talons clap together just above my head with enough force to have crushed a space shuttle.

Before it can recover, I shoot upward beneath its belly. Soft underbelly? No such thing with this thing. Its scales continue from snout to tail, each one overlapping the next in rows of black armor plates. I drive my shoulder into its ribs instead, using vampire strength rather than finesse. The impact knocks the beastie sideways. It lets out a furious bellow that echoes throughout the arena and sends thousands of spectators jumping to their feet in approval.

Great. At least the crowd is happy; apparently, I am finally giving them the show they want.

Meanwhile, the king is roaring with anger.

Sorry, pal, I think, as I spin away from the beastie who has rocketed toward me with a kind of supernatural propulsion. Some of us have bigger problems, no thanks to your psychotic blood lust.

The infuriated king points at me and shouts something in his native tongue, something I am too far away to understand. The little wizard leaps to his feet as well, swiping his hand to the side. The flames from my fireballs are immediately extinguished.

And as the wood sprite leaps onto her wings from below and races through the air, buzzing furiously, I launch one more fireball in the vicinity of the same empty space near the throne. As the wizard turns his attention to it as well, and while the whole of the royal viewing box is preoccupied with it, I flap my wings hard and shoot through the air directly at the royal family.

My inner alarm suddenly erupts. I see why: dozens of nearby archers have taken aim at me, but the scene within the king’s private viewing box is so chaotic that no one gives them the command to fire.

So, I adjust my focus toward what I assume is the king’s youngest son: a chubby lad dressed regally in purples and golds, his fingers and neck adorned in thick jewelry and gems. The kid is also furthest from the many hulking bodyguards, themselves preoccupied with the small fires.

Before I truly know what I am doing, before I can stop myself from straight-up kidnapping a kid, I do exactly that. I snatch the boy from the gilded balcony as his mother screams and the king roars. The closest bodyguard and his gleaming broadsword are too late. The little wizard, fresh from putting out the fire, is also too late.

The kid is heavier than I expected, but that is okay. I have two free hands and these dark wings of mine can lift a Honda Civic.

I hold him by his thick wrist as he kicks and fights me, beating at me with his free hand. His punches land harder than I would have expected from such a young warlord, given that he is hanging free in space. I don’t know as yet what I plan to do with him, but Baltazar’s story of the royal family being immune to the spell cast over the pitch stands out to me as both an unusual anecdote and as something to seriously consider.

Which I do now.

I just have to make sure not to drop the kid.

I next fly back over the center of the arena’s pitch as the kid hangs from one beefy arm. The wood sprite has settled back to the ground and paces with her fists at her waist, her spinning knives once again having been sheathed at her back. She looks perturbed that there will be no fighting at the moment.

Maybe she thinks my little act of rebellion reflects poorly on her, and that the powers that be will exact their revenge on her instead.

Except I happen to be dangling the powers that be’s son from one hand.

If they want him back in one piece, they will probably do well to hear me out. Not that I have any intention of hurting the overgrown Harry Styles wannabe.

I note the archers haven’t yet loosened their arrows. That is a smart move, as my welcome package gives no indication that royalty on this planet are immortals. Meaning, there is a very real chance the prince could get hit and killed. They very obviously don’t want that to happen. And wow, Baltazar almost seems to be smiling over there in the royal box. I get a very real sense that he approves this breakout, which is crazy. Then again, hasn’t he been feeding me clues all along? Maybe, but I am not home free yet. Not by a long shot. Not with a powerful wizard before me, archers around me, and a magic dome over me.

Meanwhile, I flap languidly to and fro, getting a feel for the airspace up here, ever alert to my inner alarm which, remarkably, remains silent during this time of crisis.

“What’s the plan, Sam?” I ask myself aloud as the kid continues to struggle. Worse, he uses his other hand to dig his blunt nails into my wrist. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, kid,” I tell him above the din, which has only grown louder with what I assume is my surprising move up here.

“Screw you, lady!” he barks in an accent that sounds like Timrick’s and Baltazar’s combined, though higher in pitch. Yeah, definitely a teenager.

“Well, it’s a long drop if you should fall.”

“Baltazar wouldn’t let me fall. Look, he’s spread a net beneath us, and it’s rising up. He’s going to capture you, and then stake you to the ground for the beasties to eat. And don’t you dare try to teleport. I saw what happens when people teleport. So gross!”

“Then help me get out of here.”

“No.”

I mull over my predicament. “Do you like adventure?”

“My dad invented adventure!”